


Villains Around the Boulevard

by affectingly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Light Bondage, M/M, Mirror Universe, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-23
Updated: 2010-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-28 17:52:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/310535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/affectingly/pseuds/affectingly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>boy meets girl. boy kills girl. boy joins starfleet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Villains Around the Boulevard

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [assassins down the avenue](https://archiveofourown.org/works/572781) by [green_postit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_postit/pseuds/green_postit). 



> This was written for the issenterprise remix challenge in which I was assigned green_postit. I chose her fic "assassins down the avenue" and I hope I was able to do it justice even in the slightest. The remix I chose to do is basically a McCoy POV in the established framework, so it's probably helpful to have read that fic, but not necessary. (YOU SHOULD READ IT ANYWAY, IT IS REALLY GOOD.) // Thanks to canis_takahari who auditioned the fic and put up with my neurotic behavior while I wrote this. And lots of thanks to silverlining_99 for the beta and for listening to me whine entirely too much.
> 
> WARNING: This is mirrorverse and the characters are nasty and do nasty things and there is murder and violence and the line on consent is always fuzzy in any direction. Thank you!

He falls in love with Jocelyn Darnell against his better judgment.

Her dark hair swings like a curtain across the side of her face when she turns her head, and her green eyes shine malevolently. Sharp nails bite into his forearm when he tucks her hand in the crook of his arm, and they scratch marks along his chest and shoulders and back when he spreads her out in his bed.

She is spoiled and too smart for her own goddamn good, but McCoy finds himself enthralled by the way she makes tiny kingdoms all across Georgia fall with the easy grace of her sway, the subtle bend of her wrist as she slips poison into cocktails and smiles.

He survives her first attempt on his life and fucks her against the wall with his scalpel held to her jugular, loves her all the more. He marries her after that, their families pleased with the alliance, and his ownership of her assured.

When he finds her in their bed with Clay Treadwell, a powerless nobody, he slits Treadwell's throat and then takes his time with her. He opens her up and burns his name into her heart while she screams, kept alive by his precision and skill, by the marvel of modern medicine and his cold determination.

She doesn't take as long as he'd hoped to beg for death.

"Such a waste," he says and kills her.

\--

The Darnells howl for justice, like the word means something in the Empire other than what the victor decides. McCoy sneers at their insinuation that the constable, a Darnell by marriage, will have him strung up for his crimes. They only want the highest price they can weasel out of the McCoy coffers for their silence, but their noisy complaining manages to attract the attention of a Starfleet recruiter, impressed by the show of talent the coroner's report only hints at.

"I could make this unfortunate incident go away," he says with a smile that never reaches his eyes. "The Imperial Fleet could use ability like yours."

McCoy lifts an eyebrow. "I don't particularly care for being used."

The smile widens. "Then I assure you, the Empire's prison planets will not suit you, Doctor McCoy."

The threat is clear and McCoy's rage simmers as he signs the next several years of his life away to Starfleet. If this is the price he has to pay, he wishes he'd shown a hell of a lot less mercy to Jocelyn.

\--

McCoy barely pauses at the Academy, just long enough for basic combat and officer training, before he's pushed through and finds himself assigned to the I.S.S. _Farragut_ under Doctor Anmar Puri. Puri's only real occupation seems to be fucking the Chief Engineer and synthesizing designer poisons. McCoy doesn't drink anything except what comes from his own flask.

Lieutenant Commander Kirk sweeps into his life in much the same damn way the Empire claims new territory: all consuming, demanding allegiance and valuing only what's useful. He's twenty-two and already has the kind of reputation Starfleet officers have spent _decades_ trying to establish for themselves. He's First Officer but walks the decks like he's the goddamn Emperor, and McCoy'd have to be blind not to notice him.

McCoy isn't exactly surprised when three ensigns and two lieutenants attempt to take Kirk out for their own advancement. Kirk would be a tempting target with his family's enemies even if he wasn't the XO. McCoy's also not surprised when Kirk manages to kill all of them despite bleeding out of three wounds (two phaser, one knife), each one life-threatening on its own, let alone combined.

McCoy _is_ surprised at himself for bothering to save the kid's life when he stumbles into Medical. He can't figure out if it's the best decision he's ever made or the worst. Either way, Kirk wakes up, takes one look at him, and gives McCoy the kind of smile a man who came so close to death has no right to, slow and all too knowing.

He clears Kirk with a perfunctory post-op assessment and releases him from Medical Bay without acknowledging the look (or the innuendo Kirk works into every answered question), but he's not stupid enough to believe that's the end of it when Kirk finally leaves. McCoy's barely off-shift, just walking into his quarters when he finds himself thrown bodily to the ground, Kirk straddling his hips and pinning him down with more grace than his injuries should allow. "Doctor McCoy."

"I've killed for less than this, you ungrateful bastard," McCoy snaps, well aware of the inadvisability in talking to Kirk like that. He just doesn't give a fuck at this exact moment. "Don't think I'll put you back together again if you reopen the holes in your hide."

Kirk's eyes snap brightly, his teeth flashing in a shark's smile. "I think I'm safe."

McCoy lifts an eyebrow, tests Kirk's hold on him as subtly as he can manage. "Do you?"

"I don't think you do such sloppy work," Kirk says easily, flexes his fingers on McCoy's forearms. A message: _you're not going anywhere_.

The compliment might mean something to McCoy if he wasn't already well aware of his own abilities. Or if Kirk didn't currently have him held to the floor. "What do you want?"

Kirk rocks down and against him, the tilt of his lips turning lascivious. "To say thank you."

"You think your dick's that impressive? I restarted your heart." McCoy sneers and ignores the way his own pulse has picked up. He adds, "Twice."

Kirk laughs and McCoy is almost shocked to detect a hint of genuine amusement. "I've seen you watching me."

"I watch a lot of people," he says, licking his lips.

Kirk's eyes narrow. "Not anymore."

\--

McCoy looks back on his life in Georgia as if it's a ghost, something that will always stay with him but never be fully realized again. He's not sure he even mourns it.

He and Kirk fuck like it's the only way they can breathe, selfish and brutal and perfect. Kirk's blunt nails don't scratch like Jocelyn's did, but his teeth raise perfectly shaped welts over his torso and his knives and rope and glittering eyes cut into McCoy without apology. McCoy barely recognizes himself in the man who falls apart under Kirk's deliberate attention.

Sometimes, he gets Kirk underneath him, shoves his knees up to meet his chest and thrusts in with the singular purpose of taking back the parts of himself Kirk's claimed. He thinks he should drive a hypo into this man's neck, a knife into his heart. Hell, he'd even go for something as indelicate and imprecise as phaser fire, but as Kirk comes beneath him, as his mouth widens and his eyes go unfocused from pleasure, McCoy finds himself wrecked with the desire to see him do it again.

Kirk laughs after, shoves McCoy off of him effortlessly and stretches. "Feel better, McCoy? Good, I've got some people I want you to meet."

\--

The Russian he's seen lurking around for a while, skittering around the edges and looking quiet and unsure in the junior officer's mess. McCoy hasn't believed the act since he saw Donaldson corner the kid and drag him off to her quarters. She turned up cut open from groin to sternum within the hour, the Chekov kid logged into a terminal four decks away.

Uhura he's never seen before, but he's witnessed the aftermath of her handiwork and no matter how his eyes linger on the stretch of her legs, her icy glance discourages any interest. He laughs outright at the way even Kirk avoids touching her and is rewarded by her dark eyes brightening and Kirk taking out his frustrations in creative ways.

Sulu and Spock he meets when the _Farragut_ is docked at Deep Space 7 at the same time as the _Aerfen_. He despises Spock on sight but can't deny the Vulcan's uncanny presence and intelligence, his elegant brutality. Sulu plays a mean game of poker and chuffs Chekov around the shoulders like he's the kid's big brother and doesn't end up dead.

McCoy would marvel at Kirk's skill in attracting each of these officers, their individual abilities making them impressive and dangerous all on their own, but he's known him for three months and he's simply come to expect it. Aligned with Kirk, they could be unbeatable. McCoy would be shocked if the endgame isn't more complex than Kirk's eventual captaincy.

\--

McCoy finds himself the CMO of the Empire's flagship less than six months after meeting Kirk. The details of the transition are fuzzy at best and involve more assassinations, backroom handshakes, and double crosses than McCoy bothers to keep track of, though he wonders at the antagonistic, begrudging respect between Kirk and the newly promoted Admiral Pike. The _Enterprise_ is beautiful, for a starship, and McCoy can't deny he's impressed when Kirk walks him down to Medical. It's stunning and it's all his.

Kirk slaps his ass and sends him on his way, and McCoy can't even get a proper scowl on his face. _This_ he can work with, even if Kirk did make that green-blooded hobgoblin his First Officer.

His new Head Nurse greets him with one sharp, assessing eye in her pretty face, the other gone, covered up by a neat black patch. McCoy doesn't know why he didn't have to kill his predecessor like so many of Kirk's new regime, but he has a hunch this stunning woman had something to do with it.

"They tell me your former CMO, Doctor Korby, was found without his heart several weeks ago," he says frankly.

Chapel doesn't flinch. "Yes, Doctor."

"Shame, I've heard he was very talented. I'd've liked to meet him," _before I killed him_ , McCoy finishes in his head.

"He spent more time fucking the staff than commanding them," she informs him, her words blunt but her tone neutral.

McCoy lifts an eyebrow. He can work with blunt. So long as she's not stupid. "Med Bay doesn't seem to have suffered for his lack of attention."

Chapel meets his eyes steadily. "No, Doctor."

McCoy gives her a nod. She's good, competent enough not to feel the need to brag, and he knows her type. She sees everything, one eye or no. "Good, now give me the tour, Chapel. I don't have all goddamn day."

"Yes, Doctor." She turns on her pointed heels and leads him through his new domain.

\--

Chapel proves herself to be every bit as capable as he'd figured. She has a predilection for toying with the less efficient crewmembers, the ones that make mistakes too stupid to be allowed, landing in Medical for their idiocy. It's the only time he ever sees her with something resembling _joy_ on her face, her single eye sparkling almost as brightly as Kirk's as she teaches them agonizing lessons.

And when he needs assistance in the OR, whether he's putting someone together or taking them apart, she has a cool, confident demeanor backed up by unwavering proficiency. He likes her.

He would like her a hell of a lot more if she could have been about fifteen seconds quicker killing the Centarian before it slices his face in half.

"Goddamn, son of a _bitch_ ," he snarls, reaching to hold the slashed skin together. He stares angrily at the twitching piece of alien trash as Chapel sinks her knife into it a second time, watching with satisfaction as it finally stills. When McCoy gets a hold of the other Centarian they're holding in the brig, he's going to make it suffer twice over for its companion's crimes.

Kirk chooses then to show up, his sixth sense for knowing just how to fuck with McCoy never failing. "Problems?"

His too-beautiful features fill McCoy's field of vision when Chapel abruptly steps back. Kirk's hands cup the sides of his face, turning it this way and that as he appraises. McCoy's tempted to knock his hands away, but Kirk's focus is intent and McCoy is conditioned to accept it, even if his ire mounts.

At Kirk's prompting, Chapel fills him in on the concise facts of the incident, and he'd take the time to be impressed with her display of calm in the face of danger (from Kirk, not the easily disposed of alien), but he's too busy trying not to give away how fucking much it _hurts_ to have his goddamn _face_ hanging open. It doesn't help with Kirk pushing at the gash, unconcerned with McCoy's answering glare.

His attention is ripped away from the pain when he hears Kirk say, "Leave it. That Centarian did me a favor."

McCoy only barely keeps himself from reaching for his scalpel, settles for shoving Kirk back with a near-feral growl. "What? Cut me?" he demands, his whole body tense with the desire to attack, something too close to betrayal burning in his gut.

Kirk doesn't even let him have the space, pushing right back in and gripping McCoy's chin between his fingers, tightening his hold until he's sure McCoy is paying attention. "No, fuck up that pretty face of yours. Maybe now I won't have to discipline so many members of my crew for their inappropriate thoughts about _my_ CMO."

The unflinching possession makes the raw anger twist, coil in McCoy's stomach until it's resolving into a feeling he can't acknowledge head on. Instead he makes himself swallow against it, clamp his jaw and hiss through his teeth, "Aye, _Captain_."

Kirk stares back at him for a few seconds longer, the moment resonating until he turns easily and breaks into a smile for Chapel.

McCoy can't decide if he wants to kill him or kiss him.

\--

Kirk likes to fuck him in the CMO's office.

Kirk likes to fuck him everywhere, actually, but McCoy thinks he must get a special thrill from making him beg in his own goddamn Medical Bay.

McCoy's hands are tied behind his back and he's bent over his desk, flushed face pressing against the polished surface. Kirk has him by his bound hands and is using the leverage to pull McCoy back onto his cock, a relentless press and slide inside of McCoy that's making his dick heavy between his legs, aching with the need to be touched.

Sweat stings his still-healing scar, and the hurt, the reminder of what it means curls under his skin and into his muscles, makes him groan and fist his hands. "God _damn_ it, Kirk, I have patients, I have -- _fuck_ \-- have responsibilities. I'm the CMO of this goddamn tin can, I'm not your--"

Kirk laughs, a harsh sound against the soundtrack of their fucking. "You _are_ ," he interrupts, without even knowing what McCoy wanted to say.

Or maybe he did know. McCoy can't be hassled with figuring it out now, not with the way Kirk's thrusts have gone sharp and he's sliding one hand slowly, teasingly over his stomach, thumb dipping into his belly button, fingers splayed wide and low and every hard press of his hips is making McCoy's cock jump, brush against the backs of Kirk's long fingers.

Kirk continues unprompted, "You're _mine_ , which makes you anything I say you are."

Heat flashes through McCoy, scalds his skin and scorches his nerves. He grits his teeth, tries to blink away the hazy quality the world has taken on, narrowed though his view might be. His breathing has gone open-mouthed, quick. Denial sits at the back of his mind, ready at the tip of his tongue, but Kirk switches to short, rapid snaps of his hips that slam against McCoy's prostate mercilessly. It sets off sparks up McCoy's spine and steals his words until he's left with a broken, bitten off, "Kirk -- _Jim_!"

Humming as he slides his hand lower, Kirk's fingers close around the base of McCoy's erection. He leans over, making McCoy bear his weight. His shoulders strain and the air gusts out of his chest from the press of Kirk's body. McCoy feels the teasing warmth of Kirk's breath against his ear before Kirk whispers, "I'm going to come, Bones. I'm going to shoot hot and messy inside of you, and I'm not going to let you come, too."

McCoy feels the rush of lust and the build of his orgasm, feels the frustration and anger tangle with the pure need, the weakness for Kirk that makes him vulnerable where he's never been before. Kirk's fingers tighten, holding McCoy back from release even as Kirk's movements go staccato.

Growling, McCoy tries to buck Kirk off, but he holds him down with insulting ease, groaning filth that makes McCoy's fucking toes curl. McCoy's whole body has gone tense, forced back right from the edge. His muscles contract around Kirk's cock making every erratic push almost painful, making Kirk hiss with pleasure.

Kirk comes with a shout and McCoy wants to hate it, but instead he shudders with it, can't stop the part of himself that _loves_ it. The desire to come himself is overwhelming, and he wishes he could put the proper amount of venom in his voice. He wishes he could sound like anything aside from the desperate mess he is when he says, "Fuck you, you son of a bitch."

Kirk chuckles, sounding sated and relaxed. He mouths lazily at McCoy's skin, sucking a mark onto the back of his neck just below his hairline, like an afterthought. McCoy knows perfectly well it'll be visible above his uniform, and he has no doubt Kirk does, too.

"Ask nicely," Kirk says, rocks his hips and gives McCoy a single, teasing stroke, thumb swiping the tip and McCoy lets out a low moan, release so close he can almost taste it.

"Go to hell," he chokes out.

Kirk takes his hand away entirely, pulling out of McCoy with a slick sound that makes him shiver. He has to bite down on his lip so hard he tastes blood, just to keep quiet. The whimper caught in his throat is too honest to risk. He hears Kirk pull up his pants and then sit down just behind him in _McCoy_ 's goddamn chair, letting out a satisfied sigh.

McCoy would happily end civilizations, planets, entire galaxies to have Kirk's hands on him again, but he won't beg. He _won't_.

"You should see the picture you make, Bones," Kirk says, and McCoy practically can, envisions the whole thing in his mind.

He's had Kirk bent over this same desk, he's seen this view. Kirk's never let him tie his hands (technically, McCoy didn't _let_ Kirk do it, either), but he knows the scene Kirk must be enjoying now -- McCoy sweaty and disheveled, legs trembling with the effort of standing for so long and spread wide, cock flushed and hard between his thighs. He shifts slightly, tries to relieve some of soreness he's going to be feeling even after he administers a muscle relaxer.

"Untie me and you can see the picture from _here_ , asshole," McCoy threatens. He's never been afraid of Kirk, but he knows he's testing his nonexistent patience.

Then again, it's not his fault all his goddamn blood is in his cock and not his head.

Kirk's hand is suddenly at the back of McCoy's thigh, dragging up in a motion that could be a caress if it did anything but make McCoy edgy.

"Always were stubborn," he murmurs, and it sounds like he's considering something. His hand continues up until it's resting on his ass. McCoy jerks back on instinct, seeking more when Kirk thumbs at his hole, presses just the tip in. "Fuck, my _come_ is leaking out of your ass, and you're still too proud to beg for what you want."

Kirk's words abrade his resistance like rope burns through skin, leaving him feeling raw and exposed and wanting. He doesn't know when he became this man. His fingers itch for his scalpel; itch to put fear in Kirk's voice, make him remember who McCoy _is_. He despises the way his voice shakes as he says, "I'm not going to beg for you."

"Liar," Kirk says. He twists his thumb, slipping it deeper, and pushes the knuckles of his fingers against McCoy's perineum with cruel pressure.

He shouts, wordless, and his cock throbs almost painfully. His entire body is trembling and his defiance gives way before reason can return to rein in his instinct for release. The plea sounds foreign, unrecognizable from his mouth, slipping out in a strangled gasp, " _Please_ , goddamn you."

Kirk has him up off the desk and turned around before he can even object to the loss of sensation, shoving McCoy to sit in the chair he's just abandoned. With more authority than should be allowed for someone about to suck cock, Kirk's on his knees, swallowing McCoy down, and McCoy's senses feel assaulted, his mind unable to process the heat of Kirk's mouth and the near-punishing suction. He's coming down Kirk's throat too fast to really enjoy, the orgasm feeling like it's hollowing him out, leaving him ruined and loose-limbed and worthless.

He slumps awkwardly against his still-tied hands, chest heaving as he watches Kirk pull off him with a debauched pop and lick his lips, the ends curling up in self-satisfaction.

Someone is going to die for this.

It probably won't be Kirk, but McCoy's still going to make him bleed the first chance he gets.

Chapel chooses then to walk in to his office, the door sliding open as she strides through because Kirk knows it pisses McCoy off when he doesn't bother to lock it. Her gaze doesn't drop from his once as she informs him in a bored voice that the Aatpo V away team has returned with injuries after an encounter with local hostiles. She doesn't even lift an eyebrow.

He supposes it won't be Chapel, either.

\--

When he hears Montgomery Scott is joining the crew of the _Enterprise_ , McCoy nearly laughs. He's met Kirk's half-crazed best friend on one occasion, though of course he's been familiar with Scott's reputation (and that of his family) for longer than that.

On shore leave from the _Farragut_ , Scott slapped him on the back and told him thanks for saving _Jimmy's_ life before he and Kirk proceeded to get drunk and start a brawl with some colonists. That turned into a rebellion, and _that_ turned into the Empire ordering their entire settlement destroyed. Kirk practically had a fucking _bounce_ to his step for a week after Scott was long gone again.

Basically, McCoy doesn't hate the man, which is a lot more than most get. He actually feels safer knowing it's Scott keeping them from dropping out of the sky and not that dimwitted psychopath, Olson.

Not that he would ever admit to it.

There's also the small fact that Scott keeps an _excellent_ distillery in Engineering. That might even make up for him distracting his Head Nurse so goddamn much.

Almost.

"I don't give a good goddamn what they do in their off time, but I see more of that _royal_ pain in my ass than I do most of my staff, and I didn't think anyone could make up more bullshit excuses just to show up in Medical Bay than _you_ ," he snaps one day, slapping Kirk's hands away as he reaches for McCoy's fly.

Kirk's mouth goes flat as his attention finally jerks up from trying to get McCoy out of his pants. "What?"

"Oh, now I've got your attention, now I'm not going to fuck you. I'm talking about that lunatic, Scott! He won't quit buzzing around Chapel like a bee after honey, and I'm sick of it. You tell him to keep his ass out of my Med Bay unless he's bleeding from his eyeballs," McCoy says, crossing his arms and holding his ground as Kirk narrows his eyes. "Or maybe next time, I'll just ensure that they're bleeding after he arrives."

"That sounds an awful lot like you're trying to give me an order, _McCoy_." Kirk is quiet, his voice gone dangerous.

McCoy's seen grown men with decades of security experience nearly piss themselves at that voice. McCoy snarls. "I don't need to compare the size of our dicks, _Kirk_. I just need Scott out of Medical for at least a few hours out of the day."

Kirk has him backed up against the wall in a matter of seconds, his hand cupped over McCoy's cock through the thin layers of material. McCoy reaches for his knife almost as quickly and lets its point press menacingly into Kirk's side. Kirk's mouth goes wide in a closed-lip smile before he gives McCoy an experimental squeeze.

McCoy doesn't even try to hide that he's already half hard.

Leaning forward, Kirk forces McCoy to give way or cut into him. He gives but only slightly, still lets the blade dig in enough to draw blood. Kirk's mouth is centimeters from his. "You know, they've already fucked in your office. Scotty told me so." Kirk licks his lips. "More than once."

He twists the point of the knife enough to elicit a hiss of displeasure from Kirk. Kirk's eyes are distractingly bright this close up, stare locked on McCoy, and his hand has started working McCoy's erection steadily through his pants. With a growl, McCoy lets the knife clatter to the floor, tearing at Kirk's clothes with his hands, Kirk's mouth with his teeth.

Kirk's laughter rings in his ears as McCoy wrestles him to the ground.

\--

Scott's presence, McCoy thinks, is like the final piece of the puzzle for Kirk. He settles into being captain with all the natural born talent McCoy's seen on display since the first time he saw him stalking down deck 5 of the _Farragut_. The hunger that's always been in his eyes takes on a renewed quality, a honed, sharpened look.

McCoy sees it at its brightest yet after the battle with the Corbin, Kirk's whole body thrown into a laugh after watching Scott kill two of the rock-fisted aliens with a beautiful display of cruelty. Actually, McCoy thinks one of them may even still be alive, the way its mouth gurgles blood and its eyes seem trapped open in agony.

Scott pulls Chapel into the kind of fierce, possessive kiss that McCoy might consider too private to witness if he was the sort to give a damn. Or if they didn't fuck in each other's company more than once.

When Kirk finally stops laughing, his arm is still around McCoy's shoulders, and McCoy catches it then. Kirk's blue eyes gleam, as full of amusement as they are violence and genius. He feels something tighten in his gut, and he thinks back to his suspicion, three months into knowing Kirk and just after meeting the officers that would one day become Kirk's command team.

 _They could be unbeatable._ They are unbeatable.

No, this is not Kirk's endgame.

He wonders if anyone will see them coming.


End file.
